


Gray Area

by merelysherlocked



Series: Gray Area [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelysherlocked/pseuds/merelysherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John always considered Sherlock as his closest friend. However, after Sherlock gets seriously injured during a case, John begins to see Sherlock in a different light. How will this effect their relationship? (Johnlock story).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story! It means a lot to me. Feel free to leave a comment!

It was a normal morning at 221 B. Baker Street. John was in the kitchen, cooking some breakfast for himself, as usual. He had decided to heat up a muffin that he had picked up from the bakery the day before. Sherlock, of course, was still sleeping. John glanced at the clock; it was almost ten. Sherlock should be up soon, he thought to himself as he took a seat at the small wooden kitchen table that was often covered with Sherlock's experiments.

Many people would have probably been annoyed with Sherlock's experiments cluttering the kitchen, but John had gotten used to them. There was something calming about seeing Sherlock's experiments thrown across the table. John ripped off a piece of his muffin and popped it into his mouth. Right when he did, Sherlock came out of his bedroom dressed in a blue robe. His dark brown curly hair was sticking out in random directions. John's eyes lingered on Sherlock a moment or two longer than he would have cared to admit.

"Good morning, Sherlock." he said, smiling.

"Hello John," Sherlock said as he took a seat across from John.

Sherlock picked up the newspaper and quickly leafed through it. After a few minutes of reading, Sherlock threw the newspaper back on the table.

"So boring." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"What's boring, Sherlock?"

"The news! John, there wasn't anything of importance in it."

John chuckled and took a sip of his tea.

"I am sure there is something of importance in it. It is the newspaper, after all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, there isn't anything of importance in it today. Maybe tomorrow the editors will finally publish some meaningful news articles that actually engage the citizens of London."

"Maybe they will. You never know."

"I highly doubt that."

John smirked and finished the last of his tea. Several moments of silence passed before Sherlock glanced up at John and sighed.

"Oh, for God's sake John, just say whatever it is you want to say."

John's eyes widened; he glanced up at Sherlock, stunned. Even though he had lived with Sherlock for months now, he still wasn't entirely used to his deductions.  
"How did you-" Sherlock held John's gaze. John shook his head and started over. "Sherlock, I won't be able to get dinner tonight because I have a date."

"Oh, with who?"

"With Allison."

Sherlock grunted; he had never understood what John saw in her. Compared to the girls he normally dated, her IQ was the highest, but she was probably the dullest in Sherlock's eyes. She never seemed to talk about anything important while she visited their flat and she always seemed to tell Sherlock that he should put his experiments away because they "made the apartment cluttered". He did not understand what that meant. He knew that the flat as messy sometimes, but he didn't think that the experiments made it messy. If anything, the experiments made the flat more interesting.

"Now, I know that you don't like her Sherlock, but she might be coming over tonight. If she does, please be nice."

"Okay. I will try."

John smiled and finished off his muffin.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I appreciate it."

Sherlock nodded and got up from the table. He left John to his own thoughts as he went into the family room and picked up his violin. He stood in front of the window and began to play a piece by memory. Deep notes soon filled the flat. John smiled to himself; sometimes Sherlock just played around on the violin, but John had come to appreciate when Sherlock actually decided to play a piece. There was something soothing about the melodies he played. John got up from the table and started to clean the dishes that had piled up in the sink. Sherlock's music made the time go by quickly; before John knew it, he was finished with them. He set down the towel and headed over to his seat. While John was adjusting himself so his leg didn't hurt, Sherlock started to play another piece. The notes he hit were low and soft. John couldn't help but stare at Sherlock as he played.

The playing stopped when Sherlock's cell phone rang. Sherlock tossed his violin onto the seat and rushed over to the phone.

"Hello," he said into the receiver. He nodded several times. "Yes, I will come down, but Anderson can't be- he's already there? Fine. John and I will be there soon. Next time though, don't send Anderson to the crime scene."

He hung up and glanced over at John who was watching him with wide eyes.

"Ready to work a case?" Sherlock asked as he grabbed his favorite navy coat and scarf.

John grinned.

"I'm ready when you are."

Sherlock smirked, grabbed his keys, and rushed to the door. John tucked a notebook and pen into one of his jacket pockets and rushed out of the apartment to catch up to Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of John and Sherlock continues.

Luckily the case was close to Baker Street. Within twenty minutes, Sherlock and John were on the crime scene. Sherlock analyzed the victim as usual while John stood behind him. John watched Sherlock bend over the victim with his pocket-sized magnifying glass. Sherlock scanned the body for a few minutes and then stood up.

"Any ideas?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced at John.

"Yes."

"So... what happened?"

Sherlock's face lit up. This was one of his favorite parts of doing cases with John. Most people didn't really want to hear what exactly happened to the victim, but John was different. John seemed to truly enjoy hearing about all the little details of the crime; what had really happened to the victim.

"According to the tilt of the victim's head, I would say he suffered from a broken neck. He must have been running from his attacker when he tripped going down the steps. He didn't expect to land poorly, but he did. The attacker must've thrown something in front of the victim to make him trip and fall. Since the victim lives in this building, I would have to say the victim does too, seeing as he was chasing the victim down the steps."

"Fantastic!"

Lestrade entered the building; a bunch of police officers followed him in. Sherlock walked over to him.

"The killer's fingerprints should be on the victim's clothing. Scan that and your case will be solved."

One of the most grating voice's Sherlock had ever heard entered the conversation.

"How do you know that?" Anderson asked.

Sherlock turned abruptly towards him.

"I have a magnifying glass. It allows me to see certain details that the naked eye cannot see. Maybe you should invest in one, seeing as you can't solve any cases without me."

Anderson gaped, but remained silent. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, towards John. John smiled at Sherlock and headed towards the door.

"Thank you, Sherlock," Lestrade said. He shook Sherlock's and John's hands. "We could not have solved the case without you."

"Of course you couldn't. That's why you called me," Sherlock said.

Lestrade nodded as Sherlock and John left the crime scene. Sherlock ran in front of John and hailed a cab.

The smell of shampoo followed John around the flat. Sherlock was sitting in his black chair with his violin, but his eyes were on John. John had recently showered, so his hair was still damp and the smell of soap and shampoo filled some of the rooms of the flat. Not many things could distract Sherlock from playing the violin, but John was one of those things that could. His damp hair glistened under the lights and the scent of his shampoo swirled around Sherlock. Sherlock glanced down at his violin and swallowed.

John was going out on a date with Allison, Sherlock thought. That's why he showered earlier than usual. Unfortunately, those thoughts didn't make the lump in Sherlock's throat disappear. John sat down at his laptop and grinned.

"Hey, Sherlock, the blog is getting more hits. I think people like reading about our cases."

The lump in Sherlock's throat vanished. While Sherlock was focusing on John's hair, John was busy focusing on his blog. Sherlock sighed and played a few random notes on his violin to try to calm his mind. John glanced over at Sherlock; his eyebrows furrowed.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet..." John trailed off.

Sherlock had his quiet moments, but it wasn't like him to just ignore John.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock began, "I am fine. When will Allison be over?"

"She should be here within the hour. Why?"

Sherlock simply stared. John groaned and ran his hand through his damp hair. The lump in Sherlock's throat returned. Calm down, Sherlock chastised himself. He couldn't get caught up in John's movements. John was his flatmate. Nothing more.

"Please do not say anything to upset her."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. Just please be nice."

Sherlock nodded.

"You have my word."

About a half and hour later, Allison rang the doorbell. John let her in and threw her coat on the back of his chair. Sherlock sat at the table in the middle of the flat, typing away at his laptop. When Allison entered the room, Sherlock pretended to be paying attention to the screen, but he was actually looking at how John hugged her. His arms delicately wrapped around her waist; they barely touched her. A small smirk crossed Sherlock's face.

Allison broke free from the hug and sat down on the couch. Her arms were crossed over her chest. John came in a few seconds later with a beer and two glasses. He poured half of the beer in each glass. They toasted to their relationship and talked about their days. Sherlock eventually had to go into his room because he couldn't concentrate on anything.

When he heard the voices vanish, he left his room and sat down in the kitchen, in front of his laptop. He opened up some newspaper articles and began reading them. If John had been home, they would have probably had gone out to dinner. John never really asked to go out to dinner, so Sherlock usually made a reservation for them. Not that he minded; he just wanted to make sure that John ate. Luckily though, John never put up a fight about eating. Whenever Sherlock mentioned getting something to eat, John jumped at the chance.

Around ten, John entered the flat all alone. Sherlock was laying on the couch with his eyes closed, but he wasn't actually sleeping. He heard John's footsteps come closer to him. Don't move, Sherlock thought. Something warm was thrown over Sherlock's body and the nearby lamp was turned off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it! Feel free to leave any comments or kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds of the family room. John closed his laptop and glanced over at a soundly sleeping Sherlock. Sherlock's face was completely relaxed; this was the first time John had ever seen Sherlock look so at ease. Most of the time, Sherlock was occupied with a case, or was too busy learning about something new. He never really looked completely at ease.

John shifted his gaze back to his phone; Allison still had not texted him. He frowned slightly and put his phone in his pocket. She will text you later, he told himself. Sherlock took a sharp intake of breathe and nudged the pillow. A light shade of red spread across John's cheeks. It was odd for him to see Sherlock so relaxed, especially right in front of him. John cleared his throat and decided to make some breakfast. With one last glance at Sherlock, he got up, and made some coffee.

While the coffee was brewing, John opened up the newspaper that Sherlock had been reading yesterday. He quickly glanced over the stories and sighed.

"I told you... there's nothing of importance in there."

John turned around and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway of the kitchen with his blue dressing gown on. A small smirk played on Sherlock's face.

"Well, I thought I would just check."

Sherlock poured the freshly brewed coffee into two mugs and took them to the table. John smiled and moved his mug towards him.

"And, what do you think?" Sherlock asked before he took a sip of coffee.

"That you were right. There's really nothing interesting in this paper."

Sherlock nodded and picked up another newspaper. This time, his interest was piqued by the opening news article. He read the article quickly and perused the rest of the paper until he had read all of it. Once he was finished, he tossed it onto the table and glanced over at John. John was reading another newspaper. Sherlock gave a small smile and headed to his room. He quickly stripped and hoped into the shower.

The warm water cleared Sherlock's head immediately. All of his thoughts about last night vanished; they were no longer important. What was important was acquiring a new case. He needed a new case to help him stop thinking about Allison and John. For some bizarre reason, the idea of Allison and John did not sit well with him. He had barely heard of Allison before yesterday; why was John bringing her home now? Did he actually believe that he and Allison would end up together?

No, Sherlock concluded as he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a green towel around his waist. Steam clouded the mirror. He wiped some of the condensation off of it and brushed through his dark brown, almost black, curly hair. Once it looked the way he wanted it to, he went to his room and threw on one of his favorite suits. The suit was made up of a dark purple shirt and black trousers; two of his favorite colors.

He finished buttoning up his shirt and went into the family room. John, on the other hand, was in the kitchen, cleaning the mugs from earlier. Sherlock took his violin from his chair and began playing a piece that he had composed a few weeks ago. John listened to it and smiled; he was never going to get bored of Sherlock playing the violin. There was something very calming about it. The doorbell rang loudly, snapping John out of his trance. He rushed over to the door and opened it. Lestrade rushed into the flat, shaking his head as he did. John followed him into the main room where Sherlock tossed his violin onto the couch and he turned around to face Lestrade and John.

"Hello John," Lestrade glanced at Sherlock. "Hello Sherlock. I don't mean to barge in on you, but another case has just come up. I was on my way to the site now."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed.

"And you just thought it was okay to come here at this hour?"

It was still incredibly early according to Sherlock. He didn't like to leave the flat until early afternoon. Lestrade decided to stop by around ten thirty in the morning.

"Sherlock, I know that you don't like doing stuff until later on in the day, but we could really use your help. We don't have any leads so far and we're completely lost."

Sherlock's gaze met John's. John held Sherlock's gaze for a few seconds longer than usual. A small lump made its' way up Sherlock's throat. He swallowed and shifted his gaze over to Lestrade who was waiting patiently next to the door.

"Okay, we will help you," Sherlock told Lestrade as he grabbed his coat and scarf.

Lestrade grinned.

"Thank you so much Sherlock."

With that, all three of them set out to go to the crime scene. Lestrade led them to his car while Sherlock and John lagged behind him.

The crime scene wasn't as busy as Sherlock thought it would be. Five to six investigators were usually on the scene with Sherlock when he tried to solve a case, but today he was lucky; he was the only one on the crime scene.

Sherlock found himself in another murder investigation, but this time, the details were different. No one had any ideas as to how the victim was killed. The victim was found on the floor of their apartment this morning. He crouched down next to the victim and scanned him with his miniature magnifying glass. Faint purple and blue streaks marked the neck of the victim, as if they were strangled.

"She was strangled," Sherlock yelled to John who was waiting in the hall.

John winced.

"Any other details?"

"Not yet. I'm looking at the bedroom now though."

Sherlock went into the woman's bedroom. He walked over to the windowsill and frowned when he saw a streak of mud right in front of it. He took out his magnifying glass, and centered it right over the smear.

"But it seems like the murderer-"

A sharp sound cut Sherlock off. His shoulder screamed in pain; it was as if a thousand darts had exploded in it. John immediately ran into the bedroom where Sherlock was a few minutes earlier; he would have recognized that sound anywhere. His breath became shallow as his eyes swept the room. Everything was untouched, save for a lamp, which was laying next to Sherlock. Sherlock was laying under the windowsill. Blood streamed out of a hole that seemed to be right above Sherlock's heart, near his shoulder. John ran over to Sherlock and crouched down next to the only person that he considered as his friend.

"Sherlock!" John screamed as he lifted Sherlock's head. His hands were immediately covered with blood. Tears swam in his eyes. "No, Sherlock, please don't be dead. Do not do this to me. Someone! Call an ambulance! Please!"

He didn't really care if he wasn't making any sense. All he knew was that Sherlock was completely unconscious and that he had a gaping wound in his left shoulder. John's eyes swept the rest of Sherlock. His hand stuck out in an unnatural direction and he had several cuts that marked his body. A few tears streamed down John's face.

"Please, please, don't do this, Sherlock. Don't leave me here."

A pair of hands pulled John away from Sherlock. More tears made their way down his face.

"What are you doing? Let me stay with Sherlock!"

He tried to break out of the person's grasp, but it was futile. Two people ran around John and helped Sherlock onto a stretcher.

"John, we're here to help. We will not let anything bad happen to Sherlock."

With that, John let the medic lead him out of the building. John refused to let any medic look at him. He ran over to Sherlock's ambulance and made the medics let him ride to the hospital with him. After everything Sherlock and him had been through, he wasn't going to leave him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to leave a comment or kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

John found himself in the hospital shortly after the accident. Sherlock was taken immediately to the emergency room when he had arrived at the hospital. Several hours later, Sherlock was placed in a private room. Throughout the whole ordeal, John did not leave Sherlock's side once. He couldn't physically bring himself to leave Sherlock. Sherlock, the one man he never thought would get injured. Sherlock, the one man who seemed to be invincible in a way. Now, that was no longer true.

Currently John was sitting in Sherlock's room, his chair placed right next to Sherlock's bed. Sherlock laid on the bed, completely still, still unconscious. John looked up from the magazine he had picked up in the waiting room and glanced at his flatmate. Sherlock's normally curly hair was plastered to his forehead; purple and blue circles marked Sherlock's arms. A cast was wrapped around his wrist and a large bandage covered half of his chest. John inhaled sharply. He'll be okay he thought to himself. The doctor had said that Sherlock suffered from many injuries, but nothing that was life threatening. Apparently the murderer from the flat had shot Sherlock in the shoulder and then pushed him over a trunk that was in front of the bed, which made him land on his wrist. The doctor said the weight of his body made his wrist snap in half.

John shuddered and picked up the magazine again, hoping that the next time he looked up, Sherlock would be awake.

Five hours later, John was still sitting in the chair next to Sherlock. Sherlock, of course, was still unconscious. John put his magazine down when there was a knock on the door. He glanced up; Mycroft was standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

"I should have expected you to be here," Mycroft said as he strolled into the room. John simply stared. Mycroft cleared his throat. "So, how's my brother doing? I heard that he was shot on the job."

His tone had a casual air to it; like it did not matter that his younger brother had been severely injured during one of his cases. John's hands curled into fists.

"He's doing okay. The doctor said that he should be awake within the next couple of hours."

Mycroft looked at his younger brother and then back at John.

"What exactly happened?"

"I'm not sure," John's gaze found Sherlock. Sherlock was still sound asleep. John frowned and looked back at Mycroft. "One minute he was searching for clues, and the next he was laying..." The image of Sherlock laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood flashed through John's mind. John shuddered. "in his own blood."

"Well, thank you being able to take him to the hospital. It's nice to know that someone watches him."

Since you don't? John added silently. Mycroft's eyes swept over Sherlock one more time.

"Let me know if his situation gets worse."

With that, the older Holmes brother left the room. John sighed; his gaze landed on Sherlock.

"Please, wake up, Sherlock. Wake up for me. If not for me, wake up for your brother. He actually showed up, so that has to mean something, right?"

Again, there wasn't any response from Sherlock. The heartbeat detector beeped in the background. John shook his head, unable to believe that Sherlock was still unconscious. It had been eight hours since the accident. Eight whole hours. He knew that Sherlock would eventually wake up, but he did not care. All that seemed to matter to him was the fact that his friend- his best friend- was not awake yet.

He adjusted his chair so he was right next to Sherlock's bed. John placed his elbows on his bed and rested his head on his hands.

"Sherlock, please, wake up," John mumbled again. His hand absently reached towards Sherlock's. His hand found his, and he wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's soft hand. Without realizing it, John's grip tightened around his hand.

John rested his head against Sherlock's mattress and slowly closed his eyes. As sleep fell upon John, he faintly remembered that his hand was still on Sherlock's. It didn't bother him though; it felt right, after all. With that last realization, John slipped off into unconscious.

Sherlock's head was pounding when he regained consciousness, and his chest felt like someone had taken a torch and burned a tiny part of his shoulder out. He woke up to find John sleeping next to him. John wasn't actually on the bed, but John had used the mattress as a pillow. Sherlock smirked, and closed his eyes again, not exactly ready to say hello to another day. A dream took him away, and he succumbed to darkness.

"John?" Sherlock asked; his eyebrows were slightly raised. John was still sound asleep, though. Sherlock sighed; his eyes grazed over John's back, which was rising and falling slowly. John exhaled every few seconds. Sherlock closed his eyes, but he allowed himself to listen to John's breathing. His breathing was steady, calming. Sherlock felt the pain in his head subside slightly. He snuggled into the pillow, and let the darkness take him once more.

The next time Sherlock woke up, John was still sleeping. He sighed and watched John closely, hoping that he would wake up soon. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, John opened his eyes. John immediately got out of his chair and shuffled towards Sherlock's head. Sherlock's lips pulled up into a small smirk.

"How are you feeling?" John asked, his eyes set on Sherlock's.

Sherlock shrugged.

"My head aches, but besides that, I'm fine." Sherlock trailed off; his gaze focused on a corner of the room. He winced slightly. Sherlock didn't think John would notice, but John did.

"Sherlock..." he paused; his eyes scanned Sherlock's face. The left side of his face had a few scratches; nothing major. John frowned when he examined the other side of Sherlock's face. His right eye was marked with a black and purple bruise. "You don't have to lie to me. You know that I know you better than that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"John, my brain is still working. That is all that matters. Now when can I get out of this hospital?"

Sherlock tried to get out of bed. John shook his head and his hands wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders as he pushed him back onto the bed. Sherlock shivered even though it wasn't cold in the room. John cleared his throat and placed his hands back to his sides when he realized that he had left his hands on Sherlock for a moment longer than he cared to admit.

"Not yet... the doctors needs to clear you first."

Sherlock grumbled.

"Come on- it won't be that bad," John glanced around the room before looking back at Sherlock, whose gaze was still on him. "I'll stay with you until they clear you, okay?"

A small smirk played on Sherlock's lips. John actually wanted to stay? he thought, unable to believe that someone wanted to stay with him while he was imprisoned by a hospital bed.

"Is that so?" Sherlock replied, trying to act like he wasn't happy about the prospect of John staying with him.

"Yes, Sherlock... I'll stay with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or kudos! Thank you for reading the story! I really appreciate it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues! :)

Several hours later, Sherlock was being wheeled out of the hospital by John. Sherlock had insisted that he could walk, but when he tried to walk, he nearly keeled over. He had expected John to laugh at his lack of balance, but John went into "doctor" mode instead, and told Sherlock that he had to sit in a wheelchair until he said otherwise. Much to John's surprise, Sherlock didn't argue.

Sherlock glanced up at John when they left the hospital.

"Do I have to use this at the flat as well?" He asked; his voice was tainted by an air of annoyance.

John opened the door to a cab that had just pulled up.

"Yes." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Sherlock, don't give me that look. I know that you think that you are fine, but you're not. The doctor told you that you should take it easy for the next few weeks. If you ignore his advice, you won't heal at all. So, you have to use the wheelchair until I say otherwise."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to fall, John. I'm an adult. I know how to walk."

John raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the cab that was still waiting for them.

"Fine, then get into the cab all on your own."

"I will," Sherlock replied; he stuck his chin in the air.

Sherlock gradually got to his feet, but his body betrayed him. Right when he was about to take a step towards the cab, his legs shook and he had to sit back down. John smiled.

"Do you need a hand there?" John asked; he stuck his hand out so Sherlock could take it.

Sherlock gave a quick nod of his head and wrapped his fingers around John's hand. John's hand felt differently than Sherlock had thought it would; he had expected John's hand to be a tad rough, but it wasn't. Instead, it was soft and smooth, as if he put lotion on his hands every night before he went to sleep. A clearing of a throat made Sherlock blink. His hand was still tightly wound around John's, even though Sherlock was now in the cab. Sherlock gave an apologetic smile and let go of his flatmate's hand.

John folded the wheelchair and slid it onto the floor of the cab. He shut the door when he was in. The cab driver took off in the direction of 221B Baker Street.

When Sherlock and John arrived at the flat, John got out first and helped Sherlock out of the cab. Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them once they entered the building. Her eyes went wide when she saw Sherlock in a wheelchair; she hustled to John's side.

"Oh John, how will you be able to get him up the stairs in that thing? Surely you aren't planning on carrying him up!" she said.

John shook his head.

"No, I wasn't planning on carrying him up." John glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock was rapidly tapping his finger against the armrests of the wheelchair. "I was hoping that Sherlock would be able to walk up the stairs." The tapping stopped; Sherlock's gaze shifted to John. "I'll help you go up the stairs, Sherlock."

Sherlock crossed his arms but didn't say anything. John's attention shifted back to Mrs. Hudson. She was shaking her head.

"But he'll hurt you. He is taller than you, John." Mrs. Hudson said.

"Don't worry about us, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure that we'll manage."

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips, but didn't say anything more. John put the brakes on the chair and went around to the front of it. Sherlock was massaging his head.

"Do you have those painkillers, John? My body is killing me."

John patted his jacket pocket.

"I have them right here, Sherlock. I'll give them to you when we reach the flat, okay?"

Sherlock nodded. John wrapped Sherlock's arm around his shoulders and led him up the stairs. Sherlock's legs felt like they would collapse on him at any second. He knew that the murderer had not broken his legs, so he did not understand why his legs felt so shaky. Had the hospital put something funny in the water he drank earlier today? John groaned and tugged Sherlock closer to his body. The heat from John brushed against Sherlock. Sherlock swallowed and shifted his gaze onto the stairs.

Several minutes later, Sherlock and John entered their flat. John pushed the door open with one of his hands and took Sherlock into the family room. Sherlock held onto the armrest of the sofa and slowly allowed himself to sink into the cushions of the couch. John frowned; he was not used to seeing Sherlock look like this. Sherlock was supposed to be running around the flat, unable to be stopped. Sure, that got under John's skin sometimes, but he had never wanted it to stop.

Sherlock's gaze met John's.

"Can I have my medicine now, John? The pain refuses to leave me alone." he said, glancing down at his body and scowling at it.

John smirked and nodded.

"Sure, stay there. I'll be right back."

As if I could go anywhere else, Sherlock thought to himself as John scurried off into the kitchen. He tried to get into a comfortable position, but it was futile. The cushions felt like they were made out of cement. Sherlock shifted some more; he positioned himself so his back was in the corner of the couch. He exhaled and sank further back into the dark blue sofa. John walked back into the room with a large glass of water and a white bottle. He handed the glass to Sherlock.

"Here. Take both pills." John said, handing Sherlock two white pills.

Sherlock took them gratefully and washed them down with the water John had given to him. John put the cap back onto the bottle and put it away.

"I don't feel any better," Sherlock snapped when John entered the family room again. John chuckled. "Why are you laughing, John?" John had a laugh that normally made Sherlock smile, but this time, Sherlock glared at John. "This is no laughing matter. You told me that the pills would work, but they are not working."

"The pills won't start working for a little bit, Sherlock. You have to be patient."

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Are you joking, John? If so, I do not understand why you are making a joke about this! This is not funny!"

John tried to stop smirking, but he could not help it. Here was Sherlock, the most brilliant man he had ever met, asking about something that almost everyone understood.

"I'm not joking... the pills will take a while to kick in, but they will kick in." John glanced at his watch. "How about I make you some porridge? Maybe that will make you feel better."

Sherlock shook his head multiple times.

"No. I do not want to eat. Besides, it slows me down."

John ran a hand through his short dirty blonde hair.

"I know that you say that eating slows you down, but this will help you heal. It will provide nutrients to your cells that will help repair the damage done to your body."

Sherlock wanted to argue with John, but he decided not to. John's points were valid, after all. He knew that his body needed nutrients to keep his body going.

"Fine. Please make toast as well."

A grin broke across John's face.

"Okay, I'll be right back."

With that, John practically danced into the kitchen. Sherlock watched John go; his eyes wandered from his back to his butt. His breath caught in his throat; he tried to look away, but he couldn't. How had he never noticed that before?

Once John was no longer in Sherlock's line of sight, he rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. The throbbing pain that radiated down his arm was gradually disappearing. Maybe John was right. Maybe the painkillers just need some time to kick in. The rest of the pain vanished within the next couple of minutes. Sherlock looked at his watch to see how long it had taken for the drugs to work. It had taken twenty minutes for them to work. Sherlock took a mental note of that and closed his eyes until John came back into the room with a steaming bowl of porridge.

John placed the porridge on the table next to Sherlock. He sat down across from Sherlock and cleared his throat. Sherlock's eyes sprang open.

"I see that you have brought me food." John nodded. "I appreciate that you made it for me."

John smiled.

"What are friends for?"

John nudged the tray closer to Sherlock. Sherlock tried to bend over and grab the spoon, but it was useless. Even though the pain had subsided, his body still felt like it was hit by a rather large truck. Sherlock leaned back into the couch and sighed.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I can't eat the porridge," Sherlock said simply.

"Why not? Is it too hot? If so, I can put it in the fridge for a few minutes..."

Sherlock waved his hand as if he was trying to bat away a fly.

"No, no. I'm sure the temperature is fine. I cannot eat it because of the accident, John. My whole body is still very stiff. I can't move much."

John looked blankly at Sherlock for a second before nodding.

"So..." John said, urging Sherlock on.

"So... would you mind feeding me? I know that this is childish thing to ask, but there isn't any other way for me to eat. I would suggest not eating, of course, but you told me that I need to eat, so this is the only solution."

John's eyes scanned over Sherlock. He mumbled something to himself and then nodded.

"Fine. I'll feed you."

"Thank you, John."

John didn't say anything. Instead, he went over to the couch and arranged himself so that Sherlock's legs dangled over his lap. John tried to ignore the way Sherlock's legs felt on his. Sherlock was just his flatmate, after all. Nothing else. John leaned over to get the porridge and placed it on top of Sherlock's legs. Sherlock smirked slightly.

"Do not tell anyone about this, okay, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's smirk split into a grin.

"Which part? You feeding me, or you having my legs across your lap?"

John exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Both."

"Okay. I understand."

John's gaze held Sherlock's for a moment before he finally stuck the spoon into the porridge.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

With that, John began to feed Sherlock. John didn't know how many flatmates would actually do this for their flatmates, but he hoped that he wasn't the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave any comments with criticisms or praises! Thank you so much for reading this story; it means a lot to me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

Later that day, Sherlock was sitting on the couch, watching some reality tv show. He didn't want to watch it, but John told him that he should "relax". He had tried to argue with John after he said that, but it wasn't any use. John was adamant about him not doing anything, including experiments. So, Sherlock had decided to busy himself with television. The show had a predictable storyline which Sherlock actually didn't mind; it allowed him to focus on something else besides the pain that was radiating down his upper body.

"When can I take those painkillers again?" Sherlock yelled at John who was busy folding laundry in the kitchen.

"You have to wait until we eat dinner, Sherlock."

John grunted when he realized what he was folding. Usually Sherlock did his own laundry, but since he had the accident, John told him that he would do his laundry. Now, he was starting to regret that offer. Sherlock's blue pants were dangling from one of his hands. He tried to fold them as quickly as possible and not think about how soft they were. I wonder if they're this soft when Sherlock wears them, John thought. John's eyes widened and he threw Sherlock's pants into a pile with the rest of his clothes.

"Why, John? My head is throbbing," Sherlock complained.

John ran a hand over his face; he let out a breath that he had not realized he was holding.

"Because you will feel sick to your stomach if you take them now. You have to be patient, Sherlock. I'll make dinner once I'm finished with the clothes."

"Why would I feel sick?"

"Because they're not meant to be taken alone. Please, Sherlock, I'll make dinner in a minute. Just be patient."

"Boring!" Sherlock called.

John looked over at Sherlock, who was sprawled across the couch. Sherlock's head was placed closer to John. John's eyes roamed over Sherlock's curls. His eyes stayed on them as he finished folding the rest of their clothing. Every once in a while, Sherlock would move, and the curls would dance and bounce as if they were detached from Sherlock. John didn't realize he was staring until Sherlock cleared his throat. John blinked, took the basket of laundry, and placed it in front of his room.

"I'm going to be starting dinner now, Sherlock. It should be ready soon."

"Okay." Sherlock said, acting as if he hadn't seen John's gaze linger on him.

Sherlock adjusted himself again, unable to understand why he couldn't get comfortable. No matter what he did, he couldn't find the right spot on the couch. Finally, right when Sherlock wanted to throw the couch out of the window, John came over with two plates of steaming hot lo mein. He placed Sherlock's plate in front of him. Sherlock glanced down at his plate and then back at John.

"John..." Sherlock began. John's gaze fell on Sherlock. "I can't eat this alone. Can you feed me again?"

Sherlock hated asking John to help him with this, but he really didn't have any other choice. He had to eat; John would be upset if he didn't and he would tell him that he wouldn't "heal" properly if he didn't receive the proper nutrients. John's shoulders tensed up for a second but then relaxed. The movement was very subtle, but Sherlock noticed it. He thinks that I'm being too bossy. He's going to leave the flat because he doesn't want to help me heal, Sherlock thought to himself.

"Of course I can feed you again." John said, placing Sherlock's plate onto his lap.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Goosebumps covered John when he heard Sherlock whisper. A line of shivers ran up his spine. He shook his head and tried to focus on the task at hand. If he didn't make Sherlock eat, Sherlock wouldn't eat at all. Sherlock watched John as he swirled the noodles around the fork. Once the bite was the way John wanted it, he moved the fork in front of Sherlock so he could eat. Sherlock took a bite and smiled slightly.

John tried to ignore the way Sherlock's mouth encompassed the fork. It wasn't like he hadn't seen Sherlock eat before, but this was different. John was actually feeding Sherlock. Sherlock opened his mouth again and grunted.

"Oh, sorry," John said, snapping back to reality.

John got another bite ready and gave it to Sherlock.

Once Sherlock was fed, John helped him get into the wheelchair. Sherlock tried to tell John that he didn't need any help, but John refused to listen. Of course Sherlock was glad that John was trying to help him get better, but he was a grown man. He could take care of himself, regardless of his "medical condition". John, however, didn't seem to agree with Sherlock. He said that Sherlock needed someone to help him while he was recovering from the incident.

After a few minutes of bickering, Sherlock let the topic drop and watched another boring television show. When it was over, he turned off the telly, and glanced over his shoulder. The apartment was empty. Sherlock looked over his other shoulder; his heartbeat began to rise. Where was John? Had John talked to him again while he was watching telly? Sherlock thought to himself as he glanced around the apartment.

"John?" he called.

No answer.

"John?" he called again, hoping that John would answer him this time.

There was a clattering of what sounded like glass and Sherlock heard him sprint to his side.

"Sherlock?" John asked once he was right next to Sherlock. He crouched down so that his face was only a few inches away from Sherlock.

Sherlock blew out a sigh of relief. His shoulders slouched forward.

"I did not know where you were, John. Usually you tell me where you are going."

John chuckled softly and stood back up.

"Normally when I tell you where I am you don't listen. So, I decided not to tell you this time. I'm fine though, Sherlock."

"Clearly you are fine."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and let out another breath. John had been inches away from him. They hadn't been that close since they had first met, when they stared at each other longer than either of them would probably care to admit. However, the thing was that Sherlock did not care that John's face had been only inches away from him. He could have leaned in, Sherlock thought. He immediately dismissed this thought. No. John is my friend; nothing more. Besides, he is straight, Sherlock chastised himself.

"Why did you want to know where I was? Did you need something?"

Only your company, Sherlock thought. Of course he wouldn't tell John that. John would probably grab his things and run if he heard that Sherlock had become that attached to John, even if he was just his friend. After all, Sherlock did not have friends. He understood that he was a very difficult person to get along with. When he was five, he was like any other child. He loved most of the things that they liked, and they always seemed to include him when they played a game. Sherlock's favorite game was Detective, but only a few of kids wanted to play that with him; he would usually find one or two kids to play that game with him when the other kids in his class wanted to play a more physical game.

His friends started to disappear though when he got older. Around twelve, he found himself sitting at lunch by himself, silently watching the people around him. He had always found human behavior fascinating, but when he was twelve, it was more than that. There was something about human behavior that stunned him. Since none of the other children played with him, Sherlock made up a game that he could play whenever he wanted to. The object of the game was to try to figure out facts about a person by looking at them carefully. He wasn't very good at it in the beginning, but once he hit the age of eighteen, his deducing skills were much better. If his mother had let him, he would have been a consulting detective then.

He found himself drifting away from people as his deductive skills grew. He eventually felt that human interaction was not worth his time. There was an occasional friend here and there, but he didn't really grow close to anyone. His focus was mainly on honing his deductive skills. Eventually, his skills were exactly where he wanted them to be. Once they were, Sherlock teamed up with Scotland Yard. By that point in his life, Sherlock had cut himself off from everyone else. Since he tried to deduce everyone, making friends was quite difficult for him. John didn't seem to mind his deductions, though. It was very odd for Sherlock to find someone who didn't mind him constantly deducing, but he was not complaining. After years of being considered a "freak", it was nice for someone to think that he was fine the way he was.

"No, I did not need anything. I didn't mean to disturb you, John."

John opened his mouth but closed it before any words left his mouth. Instead, he shook his head, muttering something to himself about how he knew that Sherlock had wanted him for a reason. Sherlock didn't want to tell him, though, for whatever reason. John whirled around and walked back into his room, leaving Sherlock on the couch, eyes on John's bedroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you enjoyed the story! Feel free to leave any comments or kudos (each is very much appreciated, so if you leave either it will not go unnoticed.) 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! I truly appreciate it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

The next few days passed very much like the day Sherlock had returned from the hospital. Sherlock slept on the couch and John would make him eat and take his painkillers. John had wanted to examine Sherlock's injuries, but Sherlock refused. Whenever John tried to mention it, Sherlock let out a loud sigh and rolled over onto his side so his back was to John. John would always get up and shake his head, mumbling about Sherlock under his breath.

Sunlight streamed through the open blinds, lighting the dim room. Sherlock, as usual, was asleep on the couch. Magazines and newspapers cluttered the coffee table in front of the couch. Since Sherlock was so bored lately, he made it his job to read almost every single article in a particular newspaper or magazine. He would always tell John about the articles he read while John fed him. John walked into the family room and shook his head when he saw the mess on the table. He glanced over at Sherlock, who was sprawled across the couch. Sherlock's head was tilted in John's direction and his lips were slightly parted. His good arm rested on top of his forehead, and his injured arm rested by his side. John's eyes lingered on Sherlock's dark brown curly hair. His hand twitched at his side. No, John. He's your flatmate, he yelled to himself. He pursed his lips together and went over to the coffee pot. Fresh hot coffee poured into the kettle. Since the coffee was almost ready, John decided to make some porridge.

The aroma of coffee woke Sherlock from the dream he was having. He blinked a few times and sighed. Once again, he couldn't remember what he dreamt about. He threw off his covers and tried to stand up on his own. He was tired of John having to do everything for him. It wasn't that he didn't like John making him breakfast, or helping him eat- he did, but he was a grown man. He should be able to do those things himself. Sherlock was just about to take a step away from the couch when John looked over and ran over to Sherlock. John grabbed Sherlock's arms and forced him back onto the couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" John asked, his eyes wide.

Sherlock fell to his side and glared at John.

"I want to walk, John! I realize that I'm injured, but my legs are perfectly fine; I never injured them during the incident."

"You did injure them! You have many sprains around your right ankle! And, if you paid any attention, you would see that your ankle was black and blue still. That's why you're so wobbly when you stand up."

"But it doesn't hurt."

John rolled his eyes and touched the side of Sherlock's thin ankle. Sherlock jerked it back towards his body.

"What was that for, John?" Sherlock asked through clenched teeth.

"I'm trying to prove to you that it is bruised and that you need to rest. Please, just relax, Sherlock. I'm a doctor. I know what I am doing."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows but didn't say anything. He tried to relax, but it was impossible for him to. The couch felt like it was made out of concrete blocks. In reality, Sherlock knew that the couch was made out of some type of foam, but at that moment, it felt like it was not. Sherlock threw his hands into the air and let them fall back to his sides. John took a step back and frowned.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"This couch is very uncomfortable. Can I please move to my bed? I've been here since I came back from the hospital."

"Okay. Fine. If I let you move though, you have to listen to me when I talk about your injuries. Understood?"

"Understood, John," Sherlock said, his voice deadpan.

"Good. Now wait here while I grab your wheelchair."

With that, John ran out of the apartment, leaving Sherlock completely alone. Sherlock tried to use his arms as levers so he could stand, but it was pointless. His wrist still felt like it had been crushed by an anvil. He laid back down and crossed his arms until John came back up the stairs with Sherlock's wheelchair. John unfolded his wheelchair and wheeled it over to Sherlock who was watching John attentively.

"Spread out your arms," John said after he put the brakes on the wheelchair.

Sherlock spread out his arms. John nodded and crouched next to Sherlock so he could wrap one of Sherlock's thin arms around his neck. Sherlock allowed John to wrap his arm around his neck. Little tongues of fire seemed to ignite on Sherlock's skin when he touched John. "Now, sit up and put your feet on the ground so I can move you over." Sherlock did as John said.

John grunted and shifted Sherlock from the couch to the wheelchair. Once Sherlock was sitting in the wheelchair John wheeled him into his bedroom which was meticulously clean. John always kind of assumed that Sherlock's room would be a mess, but clearly, he was wrong. Sherlock gestured to his bed, successfully throwing John out of his thoughts about Sherlock's room.

"What is it?" John asked.

"I want to get into bed," Sherlock replied simply.

Sherlock crossed his arms. John rolled Sherlock over to his bed. Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed the gray comforter that was spread perfectly across his bed. Sherlock grunted but kept pulling himself onto his bed. John watched him; his lips parted slightly. He couldn't help but notice how fit Sherlock was. After all, here he was, with one broken arm, pulling himself onto a bed. Part of John thought that he should assist Sherlock, but the other part wanted to watch Sherlock struggle. Finally, after a few minutes, Sherlock was lying on the bed. Clouds seemed to be enveloping every inch of him, drowning him in comfort. He sighed happily and glanced over to John.

"Now can I have dinner?" Sherlock asked.

John blinked and nodded.

"Of course. I'll be back in a little with it," John said as he scrambled out of the room.

About twenty minutes later, John entered Sherlock's room again. This time, however, he was carrying a large pot of porridge with cinammon that he made for Sherlock when he was sick or was feeling under the weather. Sherlock slid up into bed and gave a small smile when John entered the room with the porridge. John placed it on the nightstand and sat next to Sherlock so he could feed him. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows and opened his mouth slightly so John could feed him the stew.

While John fed Sherlock, Sherlock didn't really say anything. He didn't really think it was necessary for him to say anything to him; after all, if John wanted to say something, he would. Sometimes John would look at him and act like he wanted to speak, but he never did. It was quite frustrating for Sherlock; he didn't understand why John didn't just say what he wanted to say.

John scooped up the last bit of the porridge and stuck the spoon in Sherlock's mouth. He ate the rest of it and glanced up at John. His light gray blue eyes glimmered under the sunlight that streamed into the room through the blinds. John caught his gaze. Both of them stayed frozen on the bed. Sherlock's gaze penetrated John's. A shiver flew up John's spine. John tried to get up, but his legs felt like cement. Sherlock scanned John's face until he reached his lips. He squinted; John's lips were a bright pink and his bottom lip was bigger than most people's. Sherlock's eyes flickered back to John's. John was still staring at Sherlock, face devoid of emotion.

Sherlock tried to avoid looking at John's lips, but there was something inside of him that made him look. The small voice that threw out facts quieted in Sherlock's mind. All he could think about was John's lips. Those light pink lips. He leaned forward before he could stop himself. John continued to sit there. Sherlock leaned forward even farther. His face was only inches away from John's. The heat between their bodies melded together, teasing Sherlock. Come on, John. I know that you see me. The curse that was biding John dissolved and his lips met Sherlock's.

Their lips brushed each other. Any other reservations that Sherlock may had held about kissing John left his mind. The kiss deepened; Sherlock licked John's bottom lip, asking for entry. John let his lips open slightly. Sherlock smiled against John's lips and snaked his tongue into John's mouth. Their tongues danced and brushed against each other. Sherlock moaned softly against John and let his hands make their way to the back of John's head. His hands weaved into his hair; he pressed John's head to his. Right when Sherlock wanted to press John down onto the bed, John pulled away, gasping for air. The lamp light reflected off of his eyes. Sherlock blinked, unable to believe what had just happened. It was obvious that he kissed John, but John had actually kissed him back. John, his flatmate, had kissed him back. At first Sherlock thought he would pull away and yell at him for doing something so impulsive, especially since John claimed to be "straight". Sherlock touched his lips, which felt like someone had doused them in ice cold water.

John cleared his throat and got off of the bed. His gaze shifted to the door.

"I..." he started, barely able to get words out. "I should go. You know, I have a lot of dishes should do, so I should get started on those."

With one quick glance at Sherlock, he danced out of the room, leaving Sherlock staring after him, mouth partly opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! As always, feel free to leave a comment or kudos! 
> 
> Thank you for your continued support; I truly appreciate it.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunlight streamed through the blinds of Sherlock's bedroom. His eyelids flickered open. He sat up in bed and sighed heavily. A nagging voice in his head kept saying: You should not have done that. You should not have kissed John. On a logical level, Sherlock knew that he should not have kissed John, especially when John was his friend. His friend. Kissing him could have completely ruined their friendship. They hadn't spoken or seen each other since they had kissed. Sherlock didn't even hear John roaming about the apartment; it was as if he had just left. His lips turned down; what if John had left? What if that kiss was the final straw?

He rubbed his cheek and glanced out the window. A few clouds cluttered the morning sky, but other than that, it seemed like it was a nice day. Too bad John wouldn't let him outside. He frowned and shimmied to the edge of the bed.

"John?" he called out, hoping John would be able to hear him. He waited a few seconds, but there wasn't any response. "John?"

He stared at the door, hoping that it would open. Some part of him believed that John had actually left him alone in the flat. Sherlock had finally crossed that line with the kiss. He knew that he did. Friends didn't kiss other friends. He may not understand every single social cue, but he understood when it was appropriate to kiss another person. Yesterday was a mistake. The door creaked open and John walked in. His lips were pursed into a thin line.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"Did you make any breakfast?"

"No... not yet. Would you like me to make you something?"

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Yes, if you do not mind," Sherlock replied.

"I don't. Would you like toast?"

"Sure."

John nodded and left the room. Sherlock sighed and collapsed onto his bed. Something about that whole conversation seemed different. Sure, John was still making him breakfast, but his tone had been flat when he told Sherlock that he would make him toast. It was all very confusing to Sherlock; was John mad at him? Was John mad because Sherlock kissed him? No, he can't be. He kissed you back, Sherlock. If he didn't want to kiss you, he would have pulled away sooner. But he had pulled away. Sherlock let out an agitated sigh and closed his eyes until he heard the door creak open. John was standing in the doorway with a few pieces of toast covered with butter. He placed the plate on Sherlock's nightstand.

"Do you think you can eat this by yourself?"

"No," Sherlock said, even though he was sure that he could.

John nodded and took a piece of toast and stuck it in Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock tried to ignore the fact that John was inches away from him. His cheeks warmed; his eyes roamed John's face. John was looking at Sherlock, but he wasn't observing him. He wasn't actually with Sherlock. He was just there, doing what Sherlock had asked him to do. Sherlock took another bite and sighed. John remained silent. Once Sherlock swallowed, he took another bite.

The rest of the feeding session went the exact same way. John didn't say a word to Sherlock. He was just there to do what Sherlock had asked him to do. Nothing more, nothing less. Once Sherlock had eaten his fill, John left. Sherlock threw a pillow against the wall. Why did John just sit there? Why hadn't he talked to him? They were friends; they were supposed to talk. Sherlock went to his mind palace, hoping to find an answer to why John was acting the way he was acting.

Unfortunately, Sherlock could not figure out the answer. Normally he could figure people out pretty well, but John was different. John knew how to keep Sherlock guessing. Sherlock could occasionally tell what John's emotions were, but this time was different. A knock at the door threw Sherlock out of his thoughts. He blinked.

"Come in," he called out to the intruder.

John poked his head into the room. He was holding his cell to his ear. He clasped the receiver so whoever was on the other line couldn't hear whatever he wanted to say.

"Lestrade wants to come by," John said quietly. "He never had the chance to see you in the hospital, so he would like to see you now."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Lestrade will see me when I'm fully recovered. Why does he need to see me now?"

John let out a sigh.

"Because he's your boss and he wants to see you. You haven't called him for days. He just wants to catch up... see how you are doing."

"He can ask that over the phone or he could text me. There is no reason for him to come over here."

"Sherlock! Please. I know that you don't like to talk to people, but this would be a nice thing to do. You don't even have to talk to him a lot. Just let him stop by. Okay?"

Every fiber in Sherlock's being wanted to say no, but he couldn't. John was staring at Sherlock with his large hazel eyes; ones that seemed to see right through Sherlock.

"Fine. But if he comes over, you have to talk to him as well."

John smirked.

"Deal."

Sherlock sat in his wheelchair and looked out of the window, expecting Lestrade to show up any second. Once Sherlock agreed to meet Lestrade, John helped him into his wheelchair and rolled him into the family room. Sherlock figured that Lestrade would show up a few minutes after he entered the family room. The doorbell rang loudly in the flat. John put the kettle on for tea and rushed down the stairs to greet Lestrade.

John opened the door and stepped aside so Lestrade could come in. He nodded to John and headed up the stairs. John followed Lestrade up the stairs and hurried into the kitchen, where the kettle was just about to sound. Lestrade walked over to Sherlock and sat down on the couch next to him.

"How are you feeling, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, scanning Sherlock up and down.

"Well, I would be feeling better if I could walk," Sherlock snapped.

"When do you think you'll be able to walk again? I know that I give you a hard time a lot, but the Yard really needs you. We keep getting more cases and we can't solve all of them."

John walked into the room with tea and a few croissants. He placed the tray on the table and sat down at the table that had his laptop. Sherlock's gaze shifted to John.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock began, his voice low. "John still hasn't told me anything about my recovery."

Lestrade glanced over at John. John crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Sherlock.

"I'm only trying to look out for him, Greg," John shifted his gaze to Lestrade. "He has sustained many injuries and I'm worried that he will injure himself even more if he rushes into any cases."

"I understand." Lestrade took a croissant from a table and bit into it. He chewed carefully before continuing. "When do you think he'll be able to come back though, John?"

Sherlock's stare penetrated John's. Small shivers crawled up John's back, making him tremble. A small smirk played on Sherlock's lips; it was as if he knew what he did to John. John cleared his throat.

"Um... I would say that he can come in in a week or so. It really depends on how well he recovers."

"Okay. Well, just give us a call when you can do cases again, Sherlock."

"Will do," Sherlock said irritably.

John's gaze lingered on Sherlock for a few seconds before he glanced back at Lestrade. Lestrade finished off his croissant and clapped his hands.

"Well, I'd better be off. Thank you for letting me stop by. Hopefully we'll see you soon."

With that, Lestrade left the flat. John followed him out, allowing Sherlock to be alone for a few seconds. Sherlock tried to move his wheelchair over to the table that had his laptop, but it wasn't any use. He wasn't strong enough to move himself with one arm. Luckily, John came up a few seconds later. John crossed the room until he was a few feet in front of Sherlock.

"That wasn't too bad, was it?" John asked; his lips tugged upwards.

Sherlock mumbled something too low for John to hear.

"Sorry?"

"No, I guess it wasn't," Sherlock said, louder.

John grinned.

"See? Maybe you should listen to me more often," John said, still smiling.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I listen to you plen-" Sherlock trailed off and tightened his grip around the armrests of his wheelchair. One hand flew to his forehead. He winced in pain; it felt like thousands of tiny bees were stinging his forehead over and over.

John's smile faded immediately and he crouched down so he could look up at Sherlock. His eyes' were on Sherlock.

"Sherlock! What's wrong?" Sherlock simply shook his head. John let out an exasperated sigh. "This is no time for games, Sherlock. Please, tell me what is wrong. I am a doctor, remember? I can help."

Sherlock grimaced and let his hand fall back onto his lap. Beads of sweat covered his forehead; some of his curls were matted down by the sweat.

"My head hurts."

"What does it feel like? Do you feel dizzy at all?" John asked, immediately switching to 'doctor' mode.

"No, I do not. I simply have a headache." He grimaced again. John's frown deepened.

"Let me see something, Sherlock. Don't move."

John placed one of his small hands over Sherlock's forehead. Without realizing it, Sherlock leaned into John's hand. He sighed softly. John pursed his lips together, completely focused on the task at hand. After a few seconds, he pulled his hand away. Sherlock's eyes sprung open once John's hand was no longer on his forehead.

"No," Sherlock said, without even realizing it.

John squinted slightly and tilted his head to the side. His lips were tugged upward.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

Sherlock waved his good hand and shook his head, trying to dismiss the topic. John was still right in front of Sherlock; their faces were inches away from each other. Sherlock's eyes wandered down John's face. He swallowed; the room suddenly felt warm. John didn't move away from Sherlock; it was as if he was completely unaware of the unexpected heat wave. Before Sherlock could think, he leaned forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed this installment of the story! Thank you for reading this story; it means a lot to me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thank you for your support! It truly means a lot to me.]

Tender lips touched Sherlock's.  _John's_ lips touched Sherlock's. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned further, hungry for the kiss to go further. All thoughts about his splitting headache vanished; everything was now centered around the feel of John's lips on his. Sherlock brushed his hands up John's arms. He felt John's muscles contract under his hands. He let his hands keep going until they were cupping John's cheeks. Sherlock deepened the kiss; his lips pressed hungrily against John's. He licked John's bottom lip, hoping that he would allow Sherlock to explore his mouth further. John softly moaned; Sherlock's cheeks became hot. Right when John's lips were parting, the phone rang.

John immediately jumped to his feet and ran to the phone. Sherlock frowned and touched his lips; they were extremely sensitive. He groaned and let his hands fall to his sides. It was only natural for the phone to ring right when the kiss was going somewhere. He actually thought that unlike last time, the kissing would lead somewhere. That possibility was thrown right out the window when the phone rang.

After a few seconds, John walked into the room. His face was bright red. Sherlock smirked. John cleared his throat and pointed to the kitchen.

"That was Mycroft. He said that he hopes your recovery is quick."

"Thanks."

John nodded and scratched the side of his arm.

"Well...erm, I'm going to go out and get some groceries. I won't be gone long." He tossed Sherlock the remote controller for the television. "Just watch some tv while I'm gone. Don't leave the flat."

"You don't have to worry about that," Sherlock said bitterly.

"Er...right. I'll see you in a bit," John said, leaving the flat.

Sherlock let out a sigh and turned on the television. He quickly flipped through the channels. Of course, there wasn't anything interesting on. He tossed the remote onto the couch and closed his eyes, hoping that if he closed his eyes long enough, John would reappear.

Something warm touched Sherlock's arm. His eyelids flew open. John was standing above him with a cup of tea in his hands. Sherlock glanced at the watch on John's wrist. John had been gone for about an hour or so, which was unusual for John. Usually he was back from the store within forty-five minutes.

Sherlock frowned and scanned John, but he couldn't read him. He may as well have been the solar system.

"Thanks," Sherlock said, taking the cup of tea.

"You're welcome."

John took a seat across from Sherlock and poured himself a cup of tea.

"So... what took you so long, John? Your trip to the grocery store was fifteen minutes longer than usual."

John's mouth opened in surprise, but he closed it before he said anything.

"Did you take a new route to the store?" Sherlock asked, even though he doubted that John had changed his route.

"No...Sherlock... I ran into Allison at the store," John said quietly. His gaze was on his hands.

Something sharp seemed to prickle in Sherlock's chest. He tried to ignore the pain, but he couldn't. Sherlock exhaled, closed his eyes for a second, and then looked at John again. John was staring at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"Are you okay?" John asked, suddenly very concerned for his flatmate, who had just went very pale.

"Yes, I am fine. So, you met Allison at the store. What else happened there?"

John's gaze fell back to his hands.

"Well... she wanted to grab coffee once you can walk again. She understands that you are hurt, so she doesn't want to meet me until you are able to take care of yourself again."

Sherlock's chest constricted, but he didn't exactly understand why it did. John looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock nodded; it was all that he could manage.

"So I told her that we could hang out in a week or so, once you can walk again."

The rope around Sherlock's chest tightened. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.  _Why was am I reacting this way?_ he thought to himself.  _John is just a friend. He has every right to go out with a person he likes, even if I do not like that person._ John was still looking at Sherlock intently; his lips were pulled down into a frown.

"If you really don't want me to go though, Sherlock, I will understand. You may still need medical treatment even when you can move again."

Sherlock shook his head.

"John, if you want to go out with Allison, you can. I am sure I can take care of myself once I am better. Thank you for your concern, though."

John grinned.

"Thanks for understanding, Sherlock."

The next week passed quickly, much to Sherlock's dismay. Even though he had granted John this date with Allison, he truly did  _not_ want John to go. He did not understand what he saw in Allison. To Sherlock, she seemed awfully boring.

John, on the other hand, seemed thrilled. Over this past week, John's mood improved greatly. When Sherlock told John that he could walk again, John was thrilled. John called Allison right after he realized that Sherlock could walk. Sherlock still had a broken arm, but John seemed to think that Sherlock could look after himself since he was moving again. Sherlock wish he could say John was being illogical, but he wasn't being illogical.

The doorbell rang. Sherlock grunted as John bounded from his bedroom and ran down the steep stairs. Sherlock quickly walked over to the door of the flat so he could see what was happening at the door. John was hugging Allison in the doorway. Something like bile rose in Sherlock's throat. He grimaced and went over to the black chair that he usually liked to sit in. Once he was settled in the chair, John entered the room with Allison. Sherlock was sure that Allison was wearing some type of dress that clung to her curves, but that didn't matter to him. His eyes were focused on John's arm, which was wrapped around Allison's waist. Sherlock  _knew_ that logically, there was nothing wrong with John wanting to be close to Allison. But, at this moment, he did not care about logic. The fact of the matter was that John was touching someone other than him.

John cleared his throat and gestured to Allison with his free hand.

"Sherlock, I'm sure that you remember Allison," he said.

Sherlock nodded curtly. Allison gave Sherlock a small smile.

"John told me about the accident. I'm glad that you are better now, Sherlock. John told me that you had a lot of injuries."

Sherlock shrugged. "It's part of the job." He glanced over to John who was staring at him. "So, where are you taking Allison, John?"

"It's going to be a surprise. Anyways, we should be going. We don't want to be late."

"Right, of course. I hope you two have a marvelous time."

With that, Sherlock turned on his heal and walked right into his bedroom. He sprawled on his bed and laid one arm over his eyes. His thoughts turned to John and Allison and what they were doing on their "date". The knot in Sherlock's stomach tightened. He groaned and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, John would be back from his date.

John's stomach flipped when he left the flat with Allison. He didn't understand why. He was about to go on a date with a beautiful, intelligent girl but that didn't seem to matter to him. His thoughts kept rolling back to Sherlock. Over the last few weeks, John had to take care of Sherlock. He had to make sure that Sherlock was getting enough rest and that he was eating properly. He even had to  _feed_ Sherlock. None of that bothered him though; he actually liked taking care of him. John mentally shook his head. He was a doctor. Doctor's took care of people. It was only natural for him to want to take care of his injured flatmate. Wanting to take care of him didn't mean that he was in love with him. He simply wanted him to get better. Even though Sherlock was mainly healed, John still didn't want to leave him by himself. He was absolutely sure that Sherlock could take care of himself, but that didn't make him feel any better. He had just started to walk again a few days ago. If he fell while he was gone, Sherlock most likely would hurt himself again or not be able to get up.

Allison squeezed John's hand. John blinked and glanced over at Allison. He squeezed her hand back.

"So, where are we going?" she asked, her eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

"I figured that we would go to a coffee house and get some coffee or tea," John said.

He had actually wanted to take Allison to a fancy restaurant for breakfast, but now he didn't really feel like going there. He and Sherlock had gone to that place a few weeks after they met, right after they had solved a case. Allison didn't know that though, and he had no intention on telling her that their plans had changed.

"That sounds great, John," Allison said, smiling.

They continued to walk until they reached this small coffee shop that was filled with the aroma of coffee. John led Allison to a table in the corner of the shop and pulled out the chair for her. She took a seat and blushed. John threw his coat over his chair and glanced over at Allison.

"What can I get for you?"

"A coffee and a slice of cake, please."

John nodded and went over to the counter to place the order. After a few minutes of twiddling his thumbs at the counter, their order came out. John grabbed his cappuccino and the coffee and headed over to their table in the corner. Allison smiled and wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. John sat across from her and took a sip of his drink.

"So...John... what is living with Sherlock like?"

John almost choked; he placed his mug on the table and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"What's living with Sherlock like? I mean, he must be very interesting to live with."

_Interesting? Yeah, one could say that Sherlock was "interesting"_ , John thought to himself.

"He's definitely interesting, but a good interesting," John said, thinking about the last few years. He didn't truly believe that "interesting" was a good way to describe Sherlock. To John, Sherlock wasn't someone you could describe in one word. In a way, he was much more than simply "interesting".

John sighed and tightened his grip around his mug. Even though his eyes were on Allison, he wasn't there with her. His mind went to 221B Baker Street, where Sherlock was right now. What was Sherlock doing right now? Was he conducting an experiment? Yelling at the television? Something constricted around John's chest. He let out a breath and focused back on Allison, hoping to loosen the rope that was closing in on his chest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!
> 
> Thank you for your continued support.

* * *

Ever since John had left, Sherlock had been pacing around the flat, stomping his feet. He didn't care if people complained about the noise. All that mattered to him was John. Sherlock was about to text John when there was a loud knock on the door that led to his particular flat.

"Not now!" he called angrily at the person who interrupted his pacing.

The door to the flat swung opened, and Mrs. Hudson walked into the room. Her eyes darted from Sherlock to the messy room around him. She shook her head and rushed over to Sherlock who was still pacing near the television.

"Sherlock, what is all the fuss about? You've been stomping around for a little under an hour! What has gotten into you? Have you and John had another domestic?"

Sherlock let out an irritated sigh and sat down on his favorite leather seat. Mrs. Hudson watched him with wide eyes.

"No, Mrs. Hudson. Nothing is wrong. John is out on a date and I am waiting for him to return."

Mrs. Hudson's lips parted slightly, but she didn't say anything. Sherlock had a look in his eyes that told her that Sherlock wasn't in the mood to talk. She shook her head and headed towards the kitchen.

"I'll make you a cup of tea, Sherlock. Maybe that will make you feel better."

Sherlock didn't think a cup of tea would make him feel any better, but he didn't argue with Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson might have annoyed him sometimes, but she watched out for him when he had hit rock bottom a few years back. Without her, he would have been living on the streets.

Mrs. Hudson poured some tea into a cup and handed it to Sherlock.

"Thank you," he said softly.

He wrapped his hands around the mug as Mrs. Hudson headed out of the flat. Before she left, she paused to look back at Sherlock, who was staring out into space.

"Sherlock?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson?"

His eyes flicked over to her.

"I am not sure what is happening between you and John, but I am sure everything will work out. Just give it some time."

With that, she turned, and left Sherlock. Sherlock took a sip of tea, hoping that would settle his mind a little.  _John, when are you coming back?_ he thought; the flat was awfully quiet without his blogger.

About an hour and a half later, John strolled into the flat with his lips turned up in a small smile. Sherlock watched John closely as he walked over to him. John's eyes were a little softer than normal, which meant that his date had gone relatively well. Sherlock grumbled to himself and adjusted himself so his back was towards John.

"How are you, Sherlock? What were you up to while I was gone?" John asked, taking a seat across from Sherlock.

Sherlock continued to keep his back to John. It wasn't that he was mad at him; he wasn't. There was something inside of him that refused to be all happy that John was back home. After all, John  _had_ gone on a date. He had gone on a date a few days after Sherlock was able to walk again. That probably shouldn't have bothered Sherlock, but it did.

"Sherlock?" John asked again.

Sherlock shimmied closer to the back of the couch, away from John.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked again; his voice wavered a little near the end. He crossed over to the couch. "Sherlock, this isn't funny. Please, tell me what is wrong."

Sherlock flipped noisily to his other side so he was facing John. John's eyebrows furrowed.

"Nothing is wrong," he lied, "I assume your date went well?"

John, after all, had been gone a little longer than he usual.

"I think it did. Anyways, Allison and I are going out again tomorrow night."

Sherlock pursed his lips, got up from the couch, and went to his room. He slammed the door behind him. Heat rushed to his cheeks.  _There is nothing wrong with him going out on a date. John is not your boyfriend,_ Sherlock chastised himself. He jumped onto his bed and rolled over onto his stomach so his back was towards the ceiling.

A knock at the door threw Sherlock from his thoughts. Sherlock groaned and threw a pillow at the door.

"Leave me alone, John," he called.

Sherlock knew, deep down, that John wasn't going to listen to him. The door creaked open and John strolled into the room. John's cheeks were flushed and his hair was pointing in different directions. Sherlock narrowed his eyes; why had John been playing with his hair earlier? He let out an annoyed sigh and tried to back away from John. John rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, what is the matter? Why do you keep ignoring me?"

Sherlock shifted his gaze onto the wall that was behind John. Before Sherlock could react, John went over to Sherlock. He didn't stop until he was only a few inches away from Sherlock. Sherlock tried to back away from John, but John placed a hand on his shoulder to make him stay where he was. Heat rushed to Sherlock's cheeks.

"Now, Sherlock. I think I know you better than anyone, so I know when something is bothering you. Please, just tell me what is wrong."

Sherlock could feel his resolve crumble with every second that passed. John's eyes bore into Sherlock's. Multiple shivers ran up Sherlock's spine.

"Fine," Sherlock finally said, "I do not like Allison and you together. I believe that you two are not compatible in any way."

John's jaw tensed and his hands curled into fists. His eyes narrowed at Sherlock.

"What do you mean? How are we not compatible?"

Sherlock waved his hand, as if trying to rid the room of the conversation.

"It doesn't matter. John, you are a grown man. You  _are_ allowed to do whatever you want. I was just giving you my opinion. Feel free to listen to it or ignore it."

John's fists relaxed slightly.

"Yes, I am a grown man! And you know what, Sherlock? Allison and I have another date. Tomorrow night. So, you'll have to entertain yourself while I am gone."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his stomach sank at John's words. John was going on another date. He had tried to convince John that Allison was the wrong person for him, but apparently, that didn't work.

"Why would I care? As I said earlier John, you are old enough to make your own decisions."

John nodded curtly and left the room, leaving a frowning and slightly disappointed Sherlock behind.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

The next day came much too quickly for Sherlock. Before Sherlock knew it, John was getting ready for his date with Allison. He had tried to distract John by asking him to fix dinner for him, but John refused. John, of course, knew what Sherlock was trying to do when he asked John to help him make dinner. Sherlock sighed and walked over to the couch. He closed his eyes and went to his mind palace, hoping that his mind palace would calm his racing heart.

Sherlock was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard the bathroom door creak open. Sherlock's eyes widened and a small smile spread across his face. He hopped off of the couch and rushed over to the bathroom before John could make a dash for his bedroom. Sherlock caught John right when he was about to go into his room. John's eyes widened when he saw Sherlock's looming form a foot away from him.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, clutching his towel. He tightened it around his waist. Sherlock hid a smirk but didn't say anything. "What the hell are you doing over here? I thought I told you to not sneak up on me."

Sherlock ignored John's protests and took a step closer to him. He didn't want to make John upset, but he knew that if his plan went accordingly, John would end up being very happy. John's breath caught in his throat; his gaze penetrated Sherlock's. A water droplet from John's hair trickled down the side of his face, rolling down his lightly tan skin. Sherlock gently brushed the droplet off of John's cheek. John's eyes widened even more, but he didn't move away. Sherlock moved forward and leaned down so that John and him were almost the same height. John's lips parted as if he was trying to say something, but nothing came out. Sherlock's lips tugged upwards and he leaned forward more, hoping that John would meet him halfway.

And meet him John did. John's lips brushed against Sherlock's, singeing them. Multiple shivers danced their way up Sherlock's spine. John pushed harder against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock pressed harder against his in response; his breath caught in his throat when he felt John's tongue gracing his bottom lip. Something in John's brain snapped into place and he took several steps away from Sherlock. Even though John's lips were set in a thin line, John's eyes were soft.

"Sherlock! What do you think you're doing? I have a date tonight! I have to go pick up Allison in thirty minutes!"

John rushed down the corridor towards his room. Sherlock tried to follow him, but John wouldn't allow him.

"And please, Sherlock, stay away from me. Don't you dare try to kiss me again."

Sherlock frowned and watched John enter his room. He frowned. Was this the last straw for John? Had Sherlock really screwed things up this time? He bit his lip and laid down on the couch, fatigue rushing over his body. Time seemed to disappear as he laid on the couch; he knew that he should do something productive, but his body wouldn't allow him to get up. He stared at the ceiling until he heard John's bedroom door open.

Sherlock's palms became slick with sweat. He wiped them against his pants, hoping to eradicate any outward sign of nervousness. John didn't say anything to Sherlock as he rushed past him and left the flat. Sherlock stared after him, unable to believe John's behavior. They had never left the flat without saying goodbye to each other until now. Sherlock frowned; he really had done it. John was going to leave him because he kissed him. He never really thought that John would leave him, but now he couldn't see their relationship going any other way. It was clear that he had ruined whatever they had.

Since Sherlock didn't have any idea where John was taking Allison, he only expected the worst. He imagined John taking Allison to a fancy French restaurant that she had told John about. He could see them sharing a bottle of wine and laughing at some joke that John had made up. After all, if John truly liked Allison, he would want to make her laugh and take her to fancy places. The thought made Sherlock want to shoot the smiley face on the wall opposite to him, but he couldn't shoot it since John had taken away his gun shortly after he saw Sherlock shooting the wall when they first met.

Frowning, Sherlock got up from the couch and strolled into the kitchen, hoping to busy himself with something. Sherlock's "distraction" came in the form of a vodka bottle. Normally he would not resort to alcohol to busy his mind, but right now, he had to calm his mind. His brain refused to stop creating scenarios that involved John and Allison getting together physically by the end of date. Sherlock doubted that John would even come home tonight. After all, this was John and Allison's third date; it would only make sense for them to do something more than kiss. Something in Sherlock's stomach plummeted when he realized how close John and Allison could become tonight.

John reached into his pocket and took out his set of keys. He quickly unlocked the door and headed up the stairs to the flat. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. What had exactly happened tonight? John asked himself, unable to really wrap his head around what had happened. His date with Allison wasn't bad, but here he was, returning to 221B. It wasn't that he didn't want to be home or sleep in his bed; lying in his bed sounded great to him, actually. He couldn't help but wish though that he had gone home with Allison. This was their third date after all. He expected Allison to invite him to her flat so they could spend more time together. And, really, that's all he wanted. He just wanted to spend time with her. But, that didn't happen.

He wasn't even sure if he would see her again. Allison never really mentioned a date after he dropped her off at her place. John stared at the door that led to his flat and threw the door open, hoping to find Sherlock asleep on the couch or conducting some experiment. Unfortunately, that was not what John found.

Sherlock was on the coffee table with only socks and pajamas on, dancing to some song that was blasting from the stereo. An almost half-empty vodka bottle was in his hand, right above his mouth. Sherlock took a swig of the drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

John froze in his tracks. He had never considered the possibility that Sherlock was a drinker. Sherlock had always told him that food slowed him down during a case, so John assumed that alcohol would have the same effect as food. But, Sherlock never really told John whether he liked to drink or not. Sherlock continued to dance around the coffee table, taking sips of alcohol with almost every pivot. His cheeks were flushed and his curly hair bounced wildly. John couldn't help but laugh at the sight. His laughter must've awoken something in Sherlock because he turned towards John.

"I didn't hear you come in, John," Sherlock said as he hopped off of the coffee table and turned off the music. His eyes narrowed at his flatmate.

John cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels.

"Well, I didn't want to interrupt you. It looked like you were... busy."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and swayed slightly. John's eyebrows furrowed. Was Sherlock drunk? Sherlock still seemed coherent, but he didn't seem as graceful as he normally was. His words were slurred and couldn't stay still. John took a step towards his friend.

"Sherlock..." he began softly, "are you drunk?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I do not get drunk."

John's lips turned upwards. He crossed his arms and scanned Sherlock.

"Fine. Walk towards me, then. But walk in a straight line."

Sherlock took another swig from the vodka bottle. Once he swallowed, he walked towards John. Sherlock tried to follow the groove between the wooden planks on the floor, but it was futile. John smirked and went over to his friend who was still trying to walk in a decent straight line.

"I'm sorry to say, Sherlock, but you're drunk."

"I told you before, I am not drunk. I am simply experiencing vertigo."

"Uh-huh. Well, give me the vodka bottle. You don't need it anymore."

Sherlock clutched the bottle close to his chest, trying to keep it away from John.

"No, this is my bottle."

John let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. Why was Sherlock acting like this? Why was he drinking to begin with? His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his inebriated friend. He was used to Sherlock doing odd things, but this was very odd, especially for him. John lunged for the bottle and took it from Sherlock. Sherlock frowned and followed John as he went over to the kitchen sink to dump out the bottle's contents.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you'll thank me for this in the morning," John said right as the bottle emptied.

Sherlock frowned.

"That was my bottle!"

John tossed the bottle into the trash and wrapped a hand around Sherlock's thin wrist. He led Sherlock to his favorite seat and forced him to sit down. Sherlock looked at John with wide blue gray eyes. The hair on the back of John's neck stood up.

"Sherlock-" John began to say before Sherlock cut him off.

"It doesn't matter why I drank, John. All that matters is that I am now done." John simply stared. "How was your date?"

John shrugged.

"It went okay, I guess. Sherlock, why were you-"

Once again, Sherlock cut him off. John narrowed his eyes and looked at Sherlock closely; Sherlock's lips were pursed in a thin line.

"Are you going to see Allison again? I assume since it went well you will be seeing her again."

John shook his head and shrugged.

"I'm not sure."

Sherlock's head tilted to the side; his eyes widened.

"Why not?"

"Don't know... why do you care, Sherlock? I thought you weren't supportive of my relationship with Allison anyways," the words were out before John could stop them.

Sherlock ran a hand through his unruly curls and let out a sigh.

"John, I was never unsupportive. I just... I can't see you with her."

John's eyes hardened; his lips pressed together to form a thin line.

"But why not? Why can't you see her with me?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it almost immediately. John's hands curled at his sides. Why couldn't Sherlock just give him a straight answer? He was his best friend, for God's sake. He deserved to know the truth.

"Sherlock, tell me why you can't see her with me!"

Sherlock folded his hands together in his lap. Several moments passed before he decided to speak. When he did, John wasn't sure if he had heard his friend correctly.


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

"Wait, what?" John asked, still unsure of whether or not he had heard Sherlock correctly.

"John," Sherlock began, his voice soft, "I don't think that she understands you. You deserve someone that understands you. Someone that will make you happy even when you do not want to be happy."

John leaned forward in his chair so he was closer to Sherlock. Sherlock's gaze locked on his.

"And who understands me like that? You?" John asked, half joking.

Sherlock bit his lip for a second; John's breath caught in his throat. No, he couldn't feel that way about me, John thought to himself. This was Sherlock Holmes. He did not grow close to people. Sure, he believed that he had a much better relationship with Sherlock than most people, but that didn't mean that he was close to the man. He had lived with the man longer than anyone else, and he still felt like there were things that he didn't know about Sherlock.

Finally, after several long moments, Sherlock spoke.

"Yes, me," he said simply.

He glanced down at his lap as if he was ashamed for believing that John deserved someone like him. John stared at him. Sherlock's words replayed in his mind: Yes, me. Sherlock actually believed that John deserved to be in a relationship with him- a romantic one. John swallowed; his tongue suddenly felt thick in his mouth. Sherlock was still looking down at his lap; his lips were pursed together.

"Do you think that you are better than Allison?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock looked up at his flatmate; his face was unreadable, as always. John sighed. Of course he was closed off.

"I do not believe that I am better than her, but I believe that I know you better than her. I understand you better than she understands you. Now, will I treat you better than she would? I'm not sure. But I know that I would want to treat you like you deserve."

John's mouth went dry. Was Sherlock actually complimenting him? Was he telling him that he, John Watson, deserved more than what he thought he deserved? He shook his head; this was ridiculous. Sherlock could not believe that.

"Sherlock, don't say that. Allison is fine for me... she deserves me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly not believing John.

"You deserve better than her, John."

John's shoulder's slumped forward.

"Fine, if you will treat me better, than how will you treat me better?"

Something in Sherlock's eyes gleamed. The corner of his mouth turned upwards.

"Well, this is one thing that I would do better than her," Sherlock said, leaning forward in his seat so he was closer to John.

John froze; Sherlock's lips were only a couple centimeters away from his. His breath caught in his throat. Part of him screamed at him to run back to his room and avoid Sherlock for the rest of the night. The other part of him, however, seemed to have other plans. He leaned forward until his lips met Sherlock's. Everything else melted away. All that mattered was that he, John Watson, was kissing Sherlock.

Sure, he had kissed Sherlock a lot over the past few days, but those kisses weren't like this one. He closed his eyes and let his hands weave into Sherlock's hair. His hands played with Sherlock's curls while his lips pressed harder against Sherlock's. Sherlock moaned lightly against John. John smiled against Sherlock's lips and tried to deepen the kiss, but Sherlock broke away before he could. John let out a soft moan and opened his eyes. Sherlock, much to his annoyance, was grinning.

"I do not believe Allison kissed like that," he said lightly.

John cleared his throat.

"No... no she did not."

Sherlock's grin widened.

"You see? You do not deserve her, John."

John ran a hand through his hair; he glanced over at Sherlock.

"Then what do you think I should do, Sherlock? I recall you saying that you are married to your work. How on earth would anything...romantic happen between us if you put your work first?"

He weaved his fingers together as tightly as he could. His palms began to sweat. This was the moment that he had been waiting for. He never believed that Sherlock would want to be with him romantically. After all, he did say that he was married to his work. Part of him had always hoped that Sherlock would change his mind, though, and decide to pursue a romantic relationship with him. He had never met someone who understood him in a way that Sherlock did. Sherlock was right; he did deserve Sherlock. Most of his past relationships had been nice, but he had never been able to see a future with those women. They never seemed to understand what he went through in Afghanistan or why he was so close to Sherlock. Those women wanted him to be with them all the time and move out of 221B, which was something he couldn't see happening. 221B Baker Street had become his home over last few years.

Finally, after several agonizing moments, Sherlock spoke.

"It is up to you. I personally believe that we should have a romantic relationship. We live together and we get along quite well. I cannot imagine living with anyone else except for you, John. Everyone else makes fun of what I do, or how I act. You listen to me and enjoy being with me. I could not ask for anything more in a friend or life partner. While my work is important to me, you are important as well. More important than my work. I will gladly put in more time into our relationship in order to become a proper, exclusive, couple."

John grinned.

"So, you want to do this, then? You want to become a couple?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes, I want to be with you, John... I want to become a couple."

John's heart jumped into his throat. Words escaped him; there weren't any words to describe how he was feeling. So, instead of talking, he leaned forward until his lips met Sherlock's. His lips crushed against Sherlock's; everything else in the room disappeared. All he could focus on was the pair of lips that were pressing against his, covering his lips completely. His lips parted without him realizing it. Sherlock snaked his tongue into John's mouth and placed his hand on John's cheek. Their tongues danced as they tried to get closer to each other. Their knees brushed each other's; shivers ran up John's back. He moaned softly against Sherlock's mouth. John felt Sherlock's lips curl up into a smile.

The kiss became hungrier; their tongues continued to dance around each other. Their lips smashed against each other. John weaved his hands into Sherlock's black curls and tugged on them slightly. They kissed passionately for several long moments until Sherlock pulled away, his cheeks bright pink.

"Wow," was all he could say.

John smiled, and before he could change his mind, he took Sherlock by the hand, and led him to his room.

Sherlock had been in John's room a few times in the past, but he was never led there. Most of the time he only went into John's room when he wanted to steal his laptop. This time, however, John was actually inviting him to his room. The hair on Sherlock's neck stood straight up. Shivers climbed up and down his spine. John gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze as he sat down on the bed. He tapped the spot next to him; Sherlock raised his eyebrow.

"What are you implying, John?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Well, you have never sat on my bed before, Sherlock. I think today would be a good time for you to finally sit on it."

Sherlock hesitated even though he knew that he was allowed on John's bed. John pulled Sherlock towards him so he fell on top of John. They collapsed onto the bed together; their eyes locked on each other's. Sherlock swallowed; heat rushed to his cheeks. He couldn't believe that he was getting flustered over this. He was Sherlock Holmes, for goodness sake. This thought didn't stop the blood from rushing to his cheeks. John gently stroked Sherlock's cheek; Sherlock blinked. Heat lingered in the spot John had just touched.

"I've never seen you so flustered," John said softly.

"I'm not flustered, John," Sherlock said.

John smirked and let his hand fall to his side.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really. I do not get flustered like other people."

"Really? Okay, then. This shouldn't bother you then."

John snaked his hands onto Sherlock's back and pressed his lips to his. He licked Sherlock's bottom lip many times, but refused to let his tongue explore Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock moaned against his lips.

"John, that's not fair." he mumbled in between kisses.

"Why? I thought that you said you didn't get flustered. Is this...flustering you, Sherlock?" He pulled away so he could see Sherlock's face.

Sherlock pursed his lips, but his cheeks turned bright red. Before John could stop himself, he traced Sherlock's bottom lip with the tip of his finger. Sherlock squirmed slightly under the touch. John smirked and kissed Sherlock. Sherlock's eyelids fluttered close.

"I'd have to say that you are flustered, Sherlock," John whispered in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat.

John pulled Sherlock closer to him and kissed him roughly. His lips met Sherlock once more, but this time there was something different in the kisses; they were hungry, forceful, purposeful. It was as if John knew exactly what he wanted to do. He snaked his hands into Sherlock's hair and let his fingers get entangled in the curls. Sherlock pressed his body against John's so he couldn't tell where John's body ended and where his began. John kissed Sherlock over and over until his lips parted. Once they did, he snuck his tongue into his mouth and let his tongue explore Sherlock's mouth. Everything else in the world disappeared; all that mattered was Sherlock and him. Sherlock moaned softly against John's mouth. Encouraged, John deepened the kiss. He let his tongue dance around Sherlock's. One of his hands fell from Sherlock's hair and snuck under his shirt instead.

John found smooth skin under the shirt. He let his fingers lightly trail up and down Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock pressed his body harder against John's. John's lips turned upwards and he took off Sherlock's shirt before Sherlock could tell him no. John allowed his hands to run over every pore of Sherlock's skin, memorizing every little freckle and curve. From far away, Sherlock looked like he was stick thin, but up close, John saw that Sherlock had curves in places that John didn't originally suspect. He took a sharp intake of breath when Sherlock ran his fingers along the back of his neck. Sherlock let his hands run down John's sides until they found the bottom of his shirt. He pulled it up until John decided to throw the shirt off. They continued to kiss as their hands explored each other's body. Neither of them didn't really know what was happening; all they knew was that they had to be closer together; allow their skin to touch without fabric being in the way.

Before they knew it, they were in bed, naked. The clothes that they had been wearing earlier were on the floor next to the bed. Their kisses became more hurried and hungry; nothing else mattered except for the other person. John finally broke the kiss after several minutes of kissing. He was panting when he came up for air.

"Are you sure that you want to do this, Sherlock? You know if it's too soon... we don't have to. There wouldn't be anything wrong with not doing it tonight," John said in between breaths.

Sherlock smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I want to do this, John. If I didn't...my clothes would still be on."

With that, their bodies collided again, and this time, there were no more questions about what they were doing; they allowed themselves to get lost in each other's bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, the story concludes.

Something warm was next to him, pressing against his body. That was the first thing Sherlock noticed when he woke up. He slowly opened his eyes and took in the room around him. On one side, everything was just as he had left it the day before. When he rolled over though, he saw a man with dirty blonde hair sleeping soundly next to him. The man was only a few inches away from him. Sherlock smiled to himself and lightly touched the man's cheek. Sherlock let his hands trail down to the lips of the man. He jerked in his sleep and a loud sigh escaped his lips. Sherlock smiled and pressed his lips onto the man's. The kiss was light, but when Sherlock pulled away, he could feel faint tingles on his lips. He touched his lips gingerly and smirked.

He continued to lay next to John for a few more minutes; he didn't want to wake him, after all. A little part of him wanted to wake him up, but he knew better than waking John up; John rarely slept in. Sherlock watched John's chest rise and fall; something about the motion was mesmerizing. Finally, after about a half an hour, John's blue eyes fluttered open. Sherlock grinned when he saw that John was awake.

"Hello," John said, stroking the curve of Sherlock's cheek.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock said.

"Last night... was incredible, Sherlock. I didn't realize that it would be like that."

Sherlock smirked.

"Was it better than you expected?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.

John ran a hand through his hair.

"Well... I knew that it was going to be good, but I didn't know exactly how good it was going to be." John knew that he probably sounded like an idiot, but there wasn't any other way to describe last night.

"I'm glad that I exceeded your expectations."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John. John sighed and pressed his lips harder onto Sherlock's. The kiss deepened and before they knew it, they were under the covers again, exploring each other's bodies in a way that they had never thought that they would.

Later on that day, John came into the bedroom with Sherlock's dark blue robe on. He had insisted that he didn't want to wear it, that he was fine wearing his pajama bottoms, but Sherlock wanted him to wear the robe. John carried a tan tray that was filled with croissants, jam, and coffee into the room. Sherlock cocked his head to the side when he saw the tray.

"What is this?" he asked as John put the tray on his nightstand.

John grinned and gave Sherlock a croissant.

"Breakfast, and don't even think about trying to get out of this. You're not on a case, so you don't have any reason to not eat it."

Sherlock sighed loudly but took a bite of the croissant anyways.

"How is it?" John asked with wide eyes.

"Very good. Thank you, John."

John leaned over to plant a kiss on Sherlock's lips. The kiss was quick, but it made John smile. He didn't think he would get tired of kissing Sherlock. Sherlock patted the spot next to him, urging John to join him in bed. John hopped onto the bed and sat right next to Sherlock. Their shoulders brushed; shivers ran up John's spine.

"Would you like a croissant?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I would," John said.

Sherlock took a croissant and held it in front of John's mouth until he took a bite of it. A little piece of the croissant got stuck to John's bottom lip so Sherlock leaned in and licked it off of his face before John could lick it off of his own. John's cheeks turned bright red as Sherlock backed away and grinned.

"What are you so smiley about?" John choked out.

"I'm just thinking about how I will be able to get used to waking up with you right next to me."

And it was true; Sherlock could not imagine waking up without John right beside him. He knew that they had just gotten together, but it already seemed like they had been together for a lifetime. They had run around the city together, screamed at each other, laughed with each other, and talked to each other for hours. Before he met John, Sherlock never thought that he would have that type of relationship with anyone. He didn't want to have that relationship with anyone prior to John, either. He had thought that relationships were a waste of time and distracted him from cases. Cases were the most important thing to him. Whenever he needed a case, a case showed up. But now that he was with John, he realized how alone he truly was. John had come into his life at a time when Sherlock thought that he didn't need anyone, but in reality, he did. He just needed the right person to come along. Now, as he laid next to John, Sherlock felt his lips turn up into a smile. Somehow, despite his personality, he had been graced with a person who could put up with him, and actually cared about him.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I could get used to this too, Sherlock," John whispered as he snuggled closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock tightened his arm around John and kissed his forehead.

"What was that for?" John asked, blushing.

Several moments passed before Sherlock answered. John continued to watch Sherlock intently; his eyes never left Sherlock's face.

"That was my way of saying 'thank you', John. Thank you for being here for me."

John smiled.

"Am I better than the skull?"

Sherlock chuckled.

"Yes, John, you are. Much, much, better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support! It truly means a lot to me. 
> 
> Please stay tuned for the sequel to this story, Trials of Commitment.


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